Julie Garwood - [3 Book Box Set] (30 page)

Elizabeth refused the bait. She could not handle any more harsh words. “Why Rupert?” she asked, changing the subject. “Did he also want Montwright?”

“I think not,” Geoffrey said. “No, it was havoc he was after,” he concluded.

“Margaret was so gentle, so loving,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head, “and he killed her.”

Roger interrupted with a shout. “The men return, Hawk.”

Geoffrey and Elizabeth both turned.

The soldier called James dismounted and hurried over to his lord. “They come this way and outnumber us three to one. They ride from the east.”

“Rupert?” Elizabeth asked her husband. She started to tremble and could not seem to stop.

Geoffrey did not answer her. He lifted Elizabeth into his arms and carried her to her horse. Placing her in the saddle, he called to Roger. “See to her protection.” Pulling his sword from its sheath, he turned from her and began ordering his men into position.

The sun was slowly slipping from the sky, casting a soft orange glow to the lake. Another half hour, and the woods would be in total darkness. Roger led Elizabeth’s mare away from the water and between two tall trees. He motioned to James again and two others and Elizabeth was surrounded by men on horseback. “Do not leave her side,” Roger ordered, and the men immediately nodded. “I know you would not,” Roger corrected when he realized he had insulted them with his order. They would die before letting harm come to their lady, just as he would.

“God protect you,” Elizabeth whispered to Roger. He nodded and started toward her husband. And you protect my husband, she added to herself.

The rebels could be heard in the distance, riding hard and fast through the denseness. They aimed for the water, to refill their pouches, Elizabeth thought. But she was wrong. One minute the only sound was that of hard-ridden mounts, and the next, the bedlam of battle. The enemy had ridden into the clearing with their weapons drawn; aye, they were ready for battle. Geoffrey and his men did not have the element of surprise on their side and they were outnumbered, as James had stated.

As soon as the war cry sounded, the shields were up, blocking Elizabeth’s view. She listened to the screams and the clashes of iron against iron. She pictured
Geoffrey injured or dead, and covered her ears with her hands. And then she could stand it no longer. She prodded the soldier blocking her view and demanded that he lower his shield so that she could see that her husband was safe. The trees and the receding light hid them well, and the soldier agreed.

“They need your help,” she said when she saw the numbers. “Go and lend your skill,” she demanded of James. “I will be safe here with just one of you to protect me.”

James needed no further urging. He was eager to do his part and agreed that the men could use his aid. He motioned to the others and all but one followed him, each giving the cry for battle as they rode down the slope with their weapons drawn.

Elizabeth watched her husband as he battled with another. She held her breath when a blow just missed his stomach by inches, and then released it when he felled his opponent.

Two others approached her husband, one with a lance and the other with a battle ax. Geoffrey made short work of killing them.

Her attention turned to Roger, fighting against two men at the water’s edge. As she watched, another joined the twosome, and she saw that Roger was losing, and had no place to move. He was silhouetted against the setting sun, an easy target for the enemy, with the lake just inches behind him. Elizabeth frantically looked about to see if anyone was coming to Roger’s aid and then remembered the bow and arrows she carried. “Move aside,” she called to her one protector. She placed the arrow against the string and took aim, hesitating for the barest of seconds while she prayed that the rebel would stand still and that God would forgive her for taking a life, and then let go. The arrow whistled through the air and found its target, lodging in the back of the rebel’s head. Another prayer for
forgiveness and thanksgiving for her accuracy and the rebel’s foolishness in not wearing a helmet, and she was ready to shoot another arrow. This time the weapon lodged in the back of the second rebel’s neck, and he fell to his knees, screaming in agony. Elizabeth told herself she was not sorry for it, as he would have killed Roger if she had not interfered. Yet her stomach made a lie of her thoughts, twisting and churning at her deed.

Roger looked down at the rebel kneeling before him and saw the arrow protruding from his neck when he fell forward on his face. His curiosity almost caused his death. The third rebel took advantage of Roger’s inattention and rushed forward.

Roger did not have time to do more than block the blow from the spear, sending it flying into the air. He was not injured, but lost his footing and fell backward into the lake. The rebel promptly turned and ran to fight another.

“He will drown,” the soldier protecting Elizabeth yelled. “His armor will hold him under.”

“He will not!” Elizabeth shouted the denial. Her gaze flew to Geoffrey. He would know what to do. But he can do nothing, Elizabeth realized as she watched him fight the rebels trying to surround him.

“Do you have rope?” Elizabeth shouted. The soldier nodded and she said, “Jump into the water and tie it around Roger’s waist. Between the two of us, we will be able to pull him out.”

“I too wear armor,” the soldier told her. “It would do no good.”

“Then I will do it,” Elizabeth decided. “Hurry! Ride to the water’s edge with me and hold one end of the rope. When you feel a pull on it, drag Roger to the surface. Do not argue,” she screamed when she saw he was about to protest. “My husband would wish this.”

She did not give the soldier time to consider what he should do, but urged her mount into action and raced
to the water’s edge. She slipped off her mare and grabbed the rope. “Hold tightly,” she said, and then took a deep breath and made a clean dive into the water. The distance to the bottom was greater than she had anticipated, but she found Roger almost immediately. She pushed at his shoulder but he did not respond. Praying that she was not too late and that he still had air inside of him, she hurried to make a slip knot around his waist with the rope. It was difficult work as the mud was thick and resistant to her struggle to get the rope around the knight. Her lungs ached from the strain but she did not give up her task. As soon as she had the knot secured below the heavy chest mail, she tugged the rope and pulled on Roger’s shoulders. When she could not stand the pressure a second longer, she kicked away from the knight and headed for the surface.

As soon as the soldier felt the pull on the rope, he began to back his steed, and within seconds the limp body of Geoffrey’s faithful vassal was pulled from the water.

Roger was doubled over and the tightness of the rope acted as a squeezing vessel below his ribs. It forced great gushes of water from his lungs, and by the time he was dragged clear, he was coughing and sputtering.

Elizabeth did not hear him. She tried to climb out of the water but was crying so hard that she couldn’t seem to keep a hold. She was too late! And now Roger was dead.

Geoffrey had gained victory over his opponents and was on his way to fight another when he glimpsed Elizabeth just seconds before she dived into the water. He reacted with almost superhuman power then, screaming like a wild animal as he raced to get to her. His men saw to his back, saving his life countless times as he passed the rebels without a glance. And then the fight was over, the remaining rebels running to safety.

Geoffrey was tearing at his armor, intent on diving into the water to find Elizabeth, when she surfaced just a few feet in front of him. Relief such as he had never known washed over him, and he found that his legs would no longer support him. He knelt down and bowed his head and gave thanks.

Her soft sobs renewed his strength, and his rage. He thanked God that she was alive so that he could kill her, and shot up to his feet with a bellow of fury. “I thought you drowned,” he screamed as he hauled her out of the water. “I thought you drowned,” he repeated. He was shaking her as he screamed, and then suddenly stopped and pulled her against his chest.

Elizabeth heard the agony in his voice and cried all the more. “Nay, Geoffrey. It is worse,” she said, sobbing. “It is Roger. He is the one drowned.”

Her husband did not seem to understand. He began to shake her again, yelling at the top of his lungs. He confused her with his tirade. And then Roger’s coughs reached her and she began to cry louder. “He is not dead, Geoffrey. He is not! Do not be angry any longer.”

“You are a stupid woman,” Geoffrey ranted. He pulled her against his chest and said something she could not hear, and then jerked her back and was shaking her all over again. It was as if he could not make up his mind. She started to cry again, uncaring that an audience had formed as a half-circle behind her husband, and tried without success to get the mass of wet hair out of her face. “I would explain,” she sobbed, wishing she could just find a place to sit and calm herself.

“You will not,” Geoffrey bellowed, grabbing for her shoulders again. He pulled her to his chest once again and said in a softer voice, “Quit your weeping, Elizabeth. It is over.”

He felt Elizabeth nod against him and found himself
taking deep breaths to stop his tremors. Lord, he was acting more like a woman each day he spent with Elizabeth, he thought, and a smile of disbelief crossed his face. He spotted Roger, drenched but very much alive, and motioned him to his side. “It was this stupid, disobedient wife of mine that saved your life, Roger. What think you of that?” he asked.

“I am most grateful,” Roger answered. “Though I would disagree that she is stupid, my lord.”

Geoffrey almost laughed.

Roger pointed to the men on the ground behind him and said, “Recognize the arrows, my lord?”

“They are mine,” Elizabeth acknowledged, pulling free of her husband’s hold. “And don’t you dare yell at me again, Geoffrey! My ears are ringing from your shouts. You were outnumbered and I did what was needed.”

“It was my duty to protect you, wife, not the other way around,” Geoffrey replied, clearly exasperated. “You risked your life.”

“It is
my
life to risk,” Elizabeth argued. She placed her hands on her hips, flung her hair out of her face with a jerk of her head, and gifted him with a long, scorching look. “Think you own it?” she challenged. Her arrogant tone was lessened somewhat by the hefty sneeze she couldn’t contain.

“I do,” Geoffrey bellowed. His hands were now on his hips, his stance threatening. The muscles of his bronzed thighs and legs, braced apart for battle, intimidated her just as much as the frigid look in his eyes.

Elizabeth’s stomach twisted; she suddenly felt very vulnerable arguing with her husband in front of his men, for though they appeared busy burying the dead and seeing to one another’s injuries, it was obvious that they could well hear the shouts from their leader and his mistress. Why, Elizabeth realized, her mother would never have raised her voice to her father in such a fashion. It was unseemly, undignified. Of course, her
mother would never have gotten herself into a situation such as this in the first place!

Elizabeth’s hands dropped to her sides in confusion and defeat. “You are most unreasonable,” she said. Turning away from his glare, she started to walk back toward the trees. “I’ve no doubt you would like to put me in chains and drag me behind you,” she muttered over her shoulder.

She was jerked around and pulled back into her husband’s arms before she could gather another breath. “Do not dare to walk away from me when I am speaking to you,” Geoffrey stated in a harsh whisper.

When he saw that her eyes were once again filling with tears, he shook her and then eased up on his fierce hold. “Your idea of chains has merit,” he said, dragging her toward the privacy of the woods, “perhaps then you would stay where I put you.”

Elizabeth was wise enough to know that silence would have been the best course of action at the moment, but could not help defending herself once again. “Geoffrey, if I had stayed an observer, your loyal vassal and my good friend, Roger, would be dead. Can you find no merit in my action?” she asked, ringing her hands in frustration and wishing she could ring his neck as well. “I am sorry if it was unseemly for me to kill those men with my arrows. I have never killed anyone before and I know I will burn in purgatory for at least a hundred years, but like it or not, I would do the same again.” She started to cry again and hated herself for her weakness. It was just that he made her so mad! And she was so very tired. Dark was full upon them among the trees, and Elizabeth, in her haste to turn from his angry stare, stumbled over a stone. Geoffrey caught her and lifted her into his arms. She buried her face in his neck and tried to quit crying.

“What am I to do with you?” Geoffrey addressed the question to the top of her head. “Look at me,” he commanded. When she complied, he continued, “In
the space of one meager day, you have disobeyed me God knows how many times and openly admitted your disloyalty.” He placed her on the ground, facing him, and then added, “I have killed men who have ventured less.”

“I am not a man, I am your wife,” Elizabeth replied, shrugging his hands off her shoulders.

“It is you who forgets that fact more often than I,” Geoffrey retaliated. He turned from her and called to his squire, “We camp here for the night. See to my tent.” Turning back to Elizabeth, he noticed that she trembled, and assumed it was due to the chill of the night. “You look like a drowned pup and your gown clings to you in an inappropriate manner. Find your cloak and cover yourself.” His voice was as cold as her clothes, and Elizabeth found she no longer felt like crying. God’s truth, she wanted to scream again!

She watched her husband walk away from her, barking orders as he moved toward his men, and shook her head. And I thought I understood him, she thought with despair. “Ha,” she muttered aloud before sneezing once more. “I swear he is the most unreasonable, hardheaded, stubborn mule of a man that ever walked this earth,” she ranted while she paced between the trees. “And to think I thought he would find merit in my deed! No, he finds no merit, for he has no mercy, no understanding, no love in his heart.” The squeak of her waterlogged shoes seemed to underline each negative remark she made.